O waves of the ocean, akin to the blood in my veins,
Ye ever unfettered are coursing to other domains,
Ye ever are lonely in chillness of ebb and of flow,
And, — alone or united, — we pine in uncomforted woe.
Why may I not breathe and course on as a wave of the sea?
On earth I am lonely, and cold is the spirit in me,
I likewise am speeding to other, to other domains, —
O waves of the ocean, akin to the blood in my veins!
О, волны морские, родная стихия моя,
Всегда вы свободно бежите в иные края,
Всегда одиноки в холодном движеньи своём,
А мы безутешно тоскуем — одни и вдвоём.
Зачем не могу я дышать и бежать, как волна,
Я в мире один, и душа у меня холодна,
Я также спешу всё в иные, в иные края, —
О, волны морские, родная стихия моя!
«A sail drifts white and on its own / Amid the light blue ocean haze. / What does it seek in distant country? / What made it leave its native bays? The billows play. The winds are whistling / Down at the bending, creaking mast / Oh! This one seeks no happy ending / And does not flee a ha...»
«y noon heat in a dale in Dagestan, / A bullet in my breast, my body lay; / Deep was the wound and steaming even yet, / My blood was dripping drop by drop away. I lay alone upon the valley sands. / Clustered above my head, the cliffs were steep, / Their tawny summits scorched under the sun...»
«My damask dagger with a soul of steel, / I love you! Comrade chill and bright, / Forged by a brooding Georgian for revenge. / A free Circassian honed you for the fight. A lily-hand brought you to me in parting, / A keepsake of a time too brief / And then for once not blood flowed down you...»
«Here where barbarians knelt in Roman court / Stands the basilica: original / As joyous Adam, stretching nerves, the tall / Groined archway bunches muscle as for sport. But things outside betray the secret plan: / A pact of arch and buttress here forestalls / The heavy mass from flattening...»